I get calls. I get e-mail. I get letters. This is the first literate one I've received that was written in pencil. It came from a 7-year-old reader.

Dear Mr. Murrieta,

My name is Milana D'Aniello. I am 7 years old. Can you please give me some advise for being a food critic.

When I grow up I want to be a food critic because I like to go to fancy restaurants with my mommy and daddy. I want to tell people if it is good for kids or not.

Indochine ☆ ☆ I didn't eat anything because it was too spicy.

Akasaka ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ The only thing bad was the mashed potato.

Please write back.

Thank you!

From Milana D'Aniello
Tacoma

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I hadn't planned on doing so, but I'm glad I was told I didn't have to, because I now feel it's officially on the record:

"You don't have to tip. It's just take-out."

That's what the guy at a pizza place in Kent told me Sunday when I signed the credit card receipt for my take-out pie.

Good to know.

As for the brewpub bartender who accommodated my special request and got me out the door in time to pick up my pie while it was still hot from the oven, she got a $3 tip on a $2.99 tab.

To the manager of the Federal Way fish restaurant where a customer allegedly got frisky with a waitress Sunday night (Sitting in the adjacent booth, I saw an awkward hug and later heard "sexual harassment" and "touched a button" in the follow-up discussion):

Dude, you are one cool cucumber. I would have had the dishwashers knee-cap the (alleged) creep. Customer-service kudos to you, Joe, for the diplomacy (and restraint) you demonstrated.

Now, let's talk about that rock that landed in my steamer clams. Not a pebble, but a rock bigger than the clams themselves.

Whom do you tip for a rock? Charlie Brown?

Good food, but good grief.

My dinner companions Friday night were ages 10 and 40. One stuck a straw in her nose. One sat quietly.

The 10-year-old is the one I dine with the least, and the one I enjoyed the most.

"I'm cranky," the kid announced when I met her and her dad at Farrelli's newest pizza parlor, the one on Pacific and Garfield in Parkland, near PLU.

"I hate tomatoes," the kid said halfway through the meal, joyously licking tomato sauce off a slice of pie.

"Bacon!" she exclaimed at one random moment. "I loooooooooove bacon!"

"I love Swedish fish," I said, matching her non sequitur for non sequitur.

"Sour gummies," the kid replied, hitting my candy curveball right back at me.

"I lost a tooth in a Big Hunk," I said.

"Beans!" she screamed, beaming at me devilishly. "Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeans."

Then she did more things kids do: rolled her eyes into the back of her head, stuck both ends of a straw in her nostrils, laughed, smiled rays of honey sunshine and looked cute as hell.

The straw up the nose was over the top for my tastes, and I wondered why her dad let her do it. His dad and my dad would have smacked us both upside the heads for doing that during any meal, anywhere.

But there was no question why I enjoyed talking and eating with this cute kid who'd stuck a straw up her nose:

Food, to her, was uninhibited joy.

Tomatoes may be fruit that taste like vegetables, but simmer some with sugar and spice and spread the sauce on a disc of dough with cheese and wait for the oven to do something nice. What kid of any age wouldn't lick that pizza?

(Which is now a good time to say: Farrelli's crust is too bready and under-baked for my tastes, but I enjoyed the meatball and veggie deluxe pies. The former looked like a marvelous Margherita dotted with bite-sized balls of mildly spiced ground beef. The latter was a democratic array of pine nuts, artichoke hearts, petso and feta. Adults loved that one; the kid wouldn't touch it.)

I looked around the restaurant and counted kids. Babies, tots, lads, lasses and those in various stages of adolescence ... I ran out of fingers and toes. Except for the straw in the nose, I saw minors acting up.

Last night, I walked into a bistro in University Place and encountered a baby on a table. That sounds like a set-up to a joke, right? (Mmmmm, stuffed kid a la Swift with Gerber sauce.) But seriously: The baby slept, and the parents dined in comfortable silence.

I haven't reached the stage where I'd consider breeding my own dining companions, but to those who have: Next time you see me, I'll buy you a drink.

When the air conditioner popped another circuit breaker this afternoon, the chef decided to close his restaurant this evening.

Tonight's reservation, a party of four, wasn't happy. Let's just say it sounded like the customer needed to choke down a giant chill pill.

"I was just trying to tell him that the restaurant would be too hot for anyone in his party to enjoy their dinners," the chef said. "My job is to provide food and atmospherics. I don't want to make people sweat."

And yet customers get all hot and bothered over ... well, just about anything.

As someone who scribbles commentary about what is served and how well it is served, I'm guiltier than any paying customer when it comes to griping about bad service.

But you know what really cheesed me off lately?

Bad customers. Or at least one dude at a new Lakewood casino.

Get this scene, at Macau a couple of Saturday nights back. To say the bartender and the servers lacked cleavage would be like saying the casino lacked advantage. As I ate middling Mongolian beef and drank Miller High Life at the bar, the guy to my right drank Bud and played the long odds.

"You haven't seen me around lately because I've been working a lot," he said to a server. "It's all about the money for the honey. Too bad I don't got no one to spend it on."

Next, he said to the bartender:

"Yeah, a hot tub sure'll feel good tonight."

I don't gamble, but I'll wager this: bartenders and servers -- no matter what kind of uniforms they're made to wear -- don't enjoy being treated like strippers.

Anyone else got good tales about bad customers?

The bartenders at one of my semi-regular haunts have a customer with the following modus operandi:

She orders a drink. When the drink is delivered, she puts the glass to her lips. Then she says she doesn't have any money.

The bartenders get stuck with her tabs.

Cheers!

Stiffing a server on a tip is one thing; not paying for what you consume is theft.

Dining and dashing surfaced in a "Blondie" comic strip. (That Dagwood -- whatta proto-foodie!) The Bumsteads left a restaurant without paying. The punchline: When the waiter chased after them, Dagwood mocked the waiter for finally paying attention to them.

The Fifth Amendment and statutes of limitations aside, does anyone want to 'fess up to dining and dashing? Why'd you do it? Did you know you were stealing?

Restaurant and bar folk: Ever been ripped off? What did you do?

I'd overheard that my favorite chef-owned Tacoma steakhouse is for sale. I went down there to check things out.

What I overheard at the steakhouse upset my tummy.

No, I didn't get confirmation on the steakhouse sale rumor. I overheard a cellphone conversation from hell.

My wife and I dined one table away from three people who were sitting by the window. I glanced their way a couple of times, but I couldn't pick up their conversation.

Then one of the guys at the table made a cellphone call.

It sounded like he was talking to an old college buddy.

It sounded three times as loud as the conversation he'd been having with his tablemates.

Why do people yell into cellphones?

Yeah, my T-Mobile service blows, but what's with the yelling?

What's with making or taking cellphone calls in the middle of restaurants?

What's with intruding on other diners' spaces?

What's with making the people at your table sit and wonder what to do or say while you jabber on at a volume better suited to a Sea-Tac runway than a grown-up steakhouse?

Where's rivitman's cellphone disabler when you need it?

As a professional eater and writer, I'm allocated about 650 words to review a restaurant. That includes assessing food, service and other things that constitute the dining-out experience.

A reader who calls himself amateur eater sent me 609 words on the things that are important to him when he dines out. Food isn't mentioned.

Click on the READ MORE link below to read them all.

When you're done reading the list, tell me what's important to you.

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I don't usually like talking with people when I dine out. I don't mean the people at my table, or even the opthamologist who gets around as much as I do and drops by my tables to chat.

I'm talking about talking with the people at the next tables. Not just the people who pardon themselves to ask what I'm eating. I mean anyone. I didn't invite you to dinner, and vice versa.

Last night was different.

My wife and I dined in Olympia on delicious Spanish cheeses. We sat next to a couple of granolas. He was a long-haired bald guy. He wore a gray beard and earth-friendly work-casual duds. She looked like a 1930s B-movie queen with a busted nose, platinum curls and sparkles on her face. She spoke in a cartoonish squeak through fire-red lips. What a woman.

With our respective old ladies taking a powder, the old granola dude struck up a conversation. I don't remember exactly how it started or what he said, because that's just how it goes sometimes when the vibe and the people are right.

After my wife and Greta Boop returned, we were up to our love beads in commiseration over our respective home remodels: theirs up, ours down. When we said we were from San Francisco, they said they were from New York. The way Greta Boop described 24-hour diners and triple-decker sandwiches, I wanted to spend the night with her and a Monte Cristo.

Our entrees arrived (no-flavor lamb and the worst gnocci I've ever choked down) and the conversation stopped. After we paid the tab, we bid them good night.

I wouldn't mind talking with them again.

Talk to me, people: Do you go to restaurants to eat or socialize with strangers?

My Oprah lines are open ...

Pacific Grill’s Gordon Naccarato asks an interesting question in The You Plate Special that I’d like to highlight for discussion here:

I would love to hear some blogging on the topic of why people in Tacoma don't make reservations.

Cases in point: one recent weekday we had 6 on the book for Lunch (total people). We ended up doing 88. (Isn't that like 1500% more people than we started with?) A recent dinner we started with 86 reservations. Finished with 206. (Over 200% increase)...

When we start with only 6 people on the books for a Lunch say, the manager may not "call-in" the extra server scheduled. Plus servers already working might be "phased" early...

Then wham we get clobbered and service suffers.

Same thing at dinner. Then you start to over-schedule, thinking the trend is 2 times the number of reservations you start with and BAM only your reservations show up and no walk-ins! And you have staffed your evening to do 200 people and 126 show up.

I can't figure it out. Everyone wants good service (most of all me). I am wondering if people realize how important it is to make reservations? How it helps us schedule enough servers, busboys, bartenders, managers, and dishwashers.

I don’t make reservations because I often eat on whim. Or I have a vague plan that I'm going to eat at a certain restaurant on a certain day.

I may go alone or I may be lucky enough to round up someone willing to go to dinner with me. I'm usually never sure until the last minute, because the few people I'm comfortable eating with -- the ones who don't say stupid things in front of servers like, "Ed, what do you want me to order" or "Will the newspaper pay for wine?" -- or the few co-workers that I'd actually want to spend time with outside the office are usually busy and are as opposed to planning as I am.

I'll only make reservations for special occasions -- like my wife's birthday, a day I had better be on top of all details or I get a big package of whoop-ass. I would, however, make it a point to make a reservation if I was dining with more than four people.

That said, I don't believe that it is the responsibility of diners to ensure that restaurants are properly staffed and ready. You're open for business, you're open for anything that comes your way.

I’ve copied one Ed’s Diner patron’s comment from The You Plate Special to the comments section here. The rest of you can join the discussion, too.

Don't you just wanna kiss this dog -- or at least buy her a drink?

I've just sniffed the spring issue of City Dog Magazine. Remember that doggone wacky proposal by a state senator from Seattle to allow pooches in pubs? The magazine quotes Dr. Stephen Hines, professor of veterinary medicine at Washington State University, about the objection by some people that dogs are dirty and pose health risks to human patrons:

"I don't believe there is any documented health hazard, at least one with any significant prevalence," Hines said.

He'd be challenged to name significant diseases that people contract from well-cared-for dogs, the magazine said.

"The reality is that small children are much more of a risk to people," Hines said. "Children are much more likely to carry, shed and transmit diseases."

OK. So stay away from children. Check.

And be careful with whom you swap spit at closing time.

"As you surely know," Hines said, "a kiss from another person is much more likely to transmit disease than a kiss from a dog -- despite the known indiscriminate behavior of some dogs."

An Ed's Diner regular sent me an e-mail:

A co-worker recently brought up the topic of how to effectively complain at a restaurant. Her specific experience recently was that she ordered mushroom soup and it was too salty, at least for her taste. Waiter comes over just after she had commented on this to her husband and asks how everything is. She paused for a moment wondering what to say and said “fine.” Her rationale was that she was hungry and didn’t want the dish taken away and there was nothing to be done about that particular dish anyway – how can you take the salt out, right?

Anyway, this led to an extended discussion of what kinds of complaints are really helpful for a kitchen? Most of us agreed something had to be pretty bad to merit sending it back, but is this really in our best interest or the interest of the restaurant? When is the right time to complain and what is the most effective method of doing so?

Over the Moon, Vin Grotto, C.I. Shenanigans, Pacific Grill, Puget Sound Pizza, Asado, Masa, Varsity Grill and rivitman -- wherever you work -- I know you're out there. What advice do you have on this topic?

kenshannon3 writes in The You Plate Special:

Is there a restaurant out there with a decent children's menu? My daughter, who is 9, has gone far beyond grilled cheese and corn dog bites (she would actually prefer sushi or grilled salmon). I am sure other children would also like to explore more interesting foods as well, but the portions on the adult menu are too large, not to mention the larger price. Most restaurants are reluctant best, to allow half orders, and charge for shared plates. Are there any places out there with a menu for a kid with an adventurous palate?

Sushi is served in one and two pieces. We can argue the price later. If the very good kids menu at The Rosewood Cafe doesn't appeal to your daughter (the baguette and cheese and fruit for 3 bucks sounds good to this 42-year-old), maybe she should go more upscale, without necessarily spending a lot more money.

Maybe your daughter will like Stadium Bistro's marlin tacos, duck wings, smoked oysters with Triscuits and cheese, lobster shooter. Most are $2-$5. Maybe the kid'll like Pacific Grill's meat candy ($6) and salami sandwiches with goat cheese, arugula and shaved reggiano ($9). They're on the bar menus at both restaurants, but your kid can ask for them anywhere you sit. For dessert, check out the kid-sized dessert portions for everyone at C.I. Shenanigans. They're $2.50 each, and just right for small mouths and appetites.

As for not being able to split a plate without a surcharge: What's wrong with leftovers?

Breeders: Where do you take kids with adventurous palates?

Restaurant folks: What can you do for kids with adventurous palates?

The comment lines are open ...